


Awe. Hunger. Loss

by GarGoyl



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tokyo Ghoul, Dubious Consent, Food Issues, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, Implied Sexual Content, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, dubious ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2018-12-23 02:08:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11979867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GarGoyl/pseuds/GarGoyl
Summary: Food ‘shopping’ in the aftermath of battle, Uta finds a very interesting ‘item’ he just has to take home. Because an artist can’t but breathe in even the most twisted of beautiful things. Uta x Juuzou potential 3-shot. I own nothing.





	1. Awe

**AWE**

A/N – Hello everyone reading this messed up… thing and thank you for checking in!

Before we begin, I must confess to you all that I am ‘brand new’ to this fandom, I’ve only watched season 1 and 2 of the anime so far, so if I’m missing something, get it wrong canonwise or someone is somewhat out of character, _mea culpa_ , it’s all a black sea of ignorance at work and I apologize for it beforehand.

I am also writing this fic to get stuff out of my system, so we’ll just see how things go and to what extremes of fucked-up drama we will push it, okay? For now it’s only one chap, there may be another or there may be all three in the end, depending on the conclusion I will decide to go for.

**_Warnings:_ ** _substance use, disturbing stuff_

* * *

 

Crumbled mortar, splinters and other debris crunched under his tightly laced combat boots as he sauntered casually on the damaged rooftop, an unlit cigarette dangling in the corner of his mouth, teasing his piercing. He wouldn’t normally smoke, cigarettes were just another item on the long list of ‘flavors’ which humans indulged in but which to him were utterly inaccessible, but sometimes it was just fun to pretend, watching the lazy twirls of grayish smoke dissipate into the air.

Just more spoils of war.

Whenever incidents like this occurred, they were a great way to stock up on food, Uta had concluded a while ago. Fresh bodies, most still warm, and plenty to pick from, for that matter. Not that he was a picky eater anyway, he ate out of necessity like most ghouls and since hunting would normally take up from his creative working hours – the one thing he truly enjoyed – Uta didn’t mind settling for only one food ‘brand’ - namely CCG - for most of the time.

Not that it was without risks, this scavenging. Humans usually had zero intentions of leaving their dead behind to be used as food and nourish the very monsters they were trying to exterminate, so he had to move fast and stealthily if he wanted to snatch three-four bodies that would allow him to remain cooped up in his workshop for a couple of weeks easily. 

Tonight the raven-haired ghoul had already picked up three soldiers, young but sturdy and without what he deemed ‘considerable damage’, he’d carried them back to his place but was still feeling adventurous.

And bored. Wanting _more_.

Because inherently the aftermath of a battle was different than a random, one-off hunt in some garbage-infested back alley, the pungent, pervasive mixture of scents - blood, death, heated metal and smoke – would quicken his pulse with a rush of adrenaline and growing hunger, pushing him to be reckless, just on the edge of being crazy.

And then he saw _it_ – a tiny, pale arm sticking out from under a collapsed iron contraption of sorts. Brusquely intrigued, Uta squatted next to the peculiar appendage to study it better, observing the rolled-up uniform sleeve and the striking, sinuous line of red stitches wound around the thin limb, around the hand, all the way up to the tip of a dainty middle finger. A scowl creeping onto his face, the ghoul lifted and tossed away the pieces of metal obstructing his view, revealing the actual body the arm was attached to. It was very skinny and petite, childlike almost and looking out of place in the severe military outfit, tousled white hair contrasting sharply with the dark blue fabric.       

Uta carefully rolled the body face up, the enthralling smell of the strange person wafting towards his nose in a powerful wave. Almost shyly, he brushed away the strands of hair matted with sweat and some blood from the boy’s face – the inconspicuous Adam’s apple an indication to that, if nothing else – discovering yet more of those puzzling red stitches below one closed eye and in one corner of the doll-like mouth of that almost ash-grey face, with deep dark circles marking the eye sockets.    

The boy was still alive.

Usually an inconvenience, because Uta wasn’t _per say_ comfortable with killing humans, he only did it to eat and when lacking other options, picking corpses was just like food shopping and he had no taste for the struggling, screaming, begging or witnessing agony, all that pain-in-the-ass-ness which came with living prey.

But now he would make an exception and he knew it even before his hand had plunged inside his pocket and had extracted the small syringe filled with purplish liquid. This boy was a rare treat of both beauty and flavor, something he intended to study and enjoy at length and as a consequence could absolutely not leave behind.

A small moan escaped the pale lips of his prey as the needle went in and his thumb pressed, forcing the drug in, a powerful formula which would keep the boy fast asleep for at least twelve hours. If he were to live that long.

* * *

 

Back in his pristine-clean ‘kitchen’, Uta made swift work of storing the three bodies previously collected in the two large combo refrigerators, before carefully laying the sleeping agent onto the metal table which usually served as a worktop. Before anything else, he needed to assess the condition of his prey – whether it would live and could be thus ‘kept fresh’ for a longer period or whether it needed to be… processed much sooner. The raven sighed softly, hoping for the former, because he really would have liked to take his time with this one.

An ID card dropped on the floor as the ghoul’s impatient fingers unclasped and removed the thick vest with the CCG logo – which was dirty and torn in places – and Uta paused brusquely, gaze instantly drawn to the small piece of plastic now lying onto the shiny black tiles. Picking it up almost nervously, his eyes skimmed quickly over the info listed in the lined column – name, age, rank, etc. – before dismissing it in favor of the black-and-white photo occupying the upper corner on the left. In the photo, the boy’s eyes were open, staring straight into his very soul, large and haunting and of a color which clearly wasn’t black but seemed to absorb all the light, like two pools of something infinitely hollow.

The ghoul exhaled slowly, releasing the breath he’d been unknowingly holding. How lovely… and what color were those eyes? He could check right away, but decided to wait for that one for when his prey woke up, if ever. Uta would make himself wait.

“Well then, Juuzou,” he murmured, trying the stranger’s name on his tongue for the first time. “Let’s see you.”

Eventually, things turned out better than he’d hoped. After carefully discarding all layers of clothing, his expert fingertips pressed, prodded and diligently examined, but aside from a few bruises, scrapes and cuts here and there, there was no significant damage. The petite agent must have been simply knocked out by the collapsing irons, getting a couple of concussions in the process, but otherwise he appeared to be okay.

After that, Uta could only stare.

Juuzou’s body was nothing short of a beautifully sinister work of art. Small, slender, delicate, perfectly pale and soft-skinned like a porcelain doll, but one fallen prey to a twisted maker. Stitched. Scarred. _Incomplete_. But breathtaking nevertheless. The stitches were by far the most striking thing – raised and bright red against the skin, looking almost like a fresh, bleeding wound which was never to heal, which _just couldn’t_ heal, and Uta would not even start considering how many hours of work and pain had gone into all the tiny exes and lines, how much manic determination in those seemingly random patterns. And for what? What exactly were they supposed to express, or contain, or simply keep from falling apart?

A person’s scent wasn’t just bodily, the raven-haired ghoul pondered, reaching below the edge of the table and pulling out the leather-bound cuffs attached to it by a set of sturdy chains (they weren’t really necessary for now, but just in case). It stemmed from their entire being, it was the ultimate expression of who they were. Juuzou smelled so youthful and innocent, so vulnerable, and twisted and violent, so….      

…mouthwatering.

Yes, he would make the perfect feast, Uta concluded, covering the slumbering form with a clean, soft sheet from neck to toe and turning off the lights.

_Sleep well, little dove_

****

**_End of chapter_ **

(Wow, this was really short, I surpassed myself pffft...)


	2. Hunger

HUNGER

A/N – Hello again! It’s me, the one unable to ever write any sort of meaningful author notes! But enough about me, here’s the new chap where… well, things get even more ***-ed up. Again, if anything looks or sounds out of character, or wrong, or just implausible af, it’s still me floating on the black sea of ignorance I’ve told you about the last time, so there. I have started reading the manga very recently, but as far as this subject is concerned not much light has been shed, I must say. 

Also, a big thank you to my first reviewer for the amazing feedback and the help answering my question! I hope not to disappoint ;)

_Warnings:_ _substance use, disturbing ghoul stuff, lemonade (as in… with sugar)_

* * *

 

Excitement felt almost like butterflies in his stomach and Uta suspected that it was bad news. He was always longing to be intrigued, but being cautious by nature made him secretly fear that this wish would one day end up pushing him to unwanted extremes. Sure, his life was creative for the most part, but even that got boring sometimes and his customers… well, at some point things had gotten somewhat repetitive. He’d grown to think that even ghouls weren’t actually that interesting, let alone humans… until now.

The raven-haired artist was back in the kitchen, carefully cleaning his cooking utensils after a night of unsettled tossing and turning, and he was asking himself all sorts of questions. What was up with this _investigator_ who looked so sweetly childlike yet so horribly messed up and… just awfully out of the picture? Was he some sort of fucked-up experiment of the CCG? He did smell human though…

Uta really hoped to get answers to all these questions and more, to satisfy his growing curiosity, if possible without getting any nasty surprises in the process. Speaking of which, the cuffs he’d secured the boy’s wrists and ankles with the night before were supposedly sturdy enough to restrain even the strongest of humans, but if his ‘military experiment’ theory happened to be real-…

The ghoul turned brusquely upon the thought, damp cloth still in his hand, and nearly flinched upon discovering that the boy was now awake. Sort of, anyway, because his large eyes, currently fixed onto the metal instruments on display on Uta’s tabletop were glassy and oddly unmoving, a clear indication that the drug effects were far from wearing off.   

And they were _red_.

Crimson irises surrounding the widened black pupils, they reminded Uta of blooming poppies, beautiful, fragile and unsettling, holding the promise of danger. _More than worth the wait._  

Ever-so-carefully Uta moved, blocking the agent’s view of his utensils and throwing a quick glance towards the ID card he’d left lying around. He’d forgotten the boy’s name, just like he’d pretty much forgotten all of his previous thoughts, the sheer surprise seemed to have effectively erased them. 

“Hello, Juuzou,” the ghoul said softly. “Would you like a glass of water? Or maybe you want to go back to sleep?”

The agent’s gaze shifted onto his face slowly, eyes blinking owlishly as he still tottered on the brink of sleep, and his lips moved, struggling to form words. “Fu…ghhhh… you….hnnn… ghhh… y’r a ghoul… Ghoul!”

“It’s alright,” Uta reassured him, reaching out to tread his long fingers through the white strands fanned out on the shiny metal surface. “It won’t hurt. You won’t feel anything, I promise.”

The boy snorted, body tensing suddenly and squirming unsuccessfully against the restraints. There was viciousness in that small body, but the drug had fortunately taken most of his energy, the raven-haired artist noted with relief. Like this, there was no chance of his prey escaping, even if he was awake.

“ _YOU FUCKING GHOUL_!” Juuzou spat, clearly this time, not scared but angry, those red eyes burning with all the fires of Hell.

But Uta was enthralled by the sight and completely unfazed by the insult, plopping into a stool he’d dragged by the table side with an absent hand. 

“Your eyes… are so beautiful!” he breathed. “I must-… I will keep them!”

“FUCK YOU!! FU-”

Uta leaned in to inspect the doll-like face from up close, squeezing the plump cheeks between his fingers. This was unreal! “ _What_ are you?” he murmured, taking in every feature with avid eyes, as if trying to commit all to memory. Sadly, the petite dove offered the same two-word profanity in reply to his question.

Well, this wouldn’t do.

The ghoul turned around in his chair and chose a miniscule, razor-sharp scalpel from the countertop, and gave it a quick spin between his long, pale fingers before bringing it below the agent’s chin.

“I would like you to answer my questions,” he said, in the same even tone. “It’s not that much to ask of you, but if you don’t I’m afraid there _will_ be pain.”  

Juuzou’s lips curled into a slight but gleeful smirk. “I don’t feel any pain.”

The other’s black eyes widened instantly, trailing from the pale face to the row of stitches gruesomely decorating the boy’s thin neck and disappearing under the sheet. He ran his fingertips over the red thread pattern and the stringy plastic feel of it sent an unpleasant shiver down his spine.   

“So these… I thought you enjoyed hurting yourself, because I figured out they must be your own doing. See, there are none on your back and-…” Uta explained, licking his lips briefly. “But if you don’t feel pain… How do you not feel pain?! Are you some sort of experiment?! What has the CCG done to you?”

“…wha-”

“What about other things?” the ghoul pressed. “Can you feel other things? Do you touch yourself?”

Maybe that question was absurd, Uta pondered immediately afterwards. If the boy was indeed the result of some sinister lab work, perhaps his functionality was limited to his intended purpose and nothing else. Otherwise, he could not fathom why the lack of pain, why those scars and missing parts. It made no sense.  And even so, why would something so beautiful not be able to… or perhaps _he_ was missing something here?

“Did you ever come?”

How old was this kid again? The ID card said nineteen, but it must have been bullshit, he didn’t look more than fourteen at best. Also, Uta’s last question was met with a puzzled glance which said it all and managed to make him feel a tad stupid in turn – because without knowing the meaning it did sound like a dumb question after all. But still…

“I want to see you come,” the raven-haired artist thought out loud, inspecting Juuzou’s confused expression. Admittedly, he didn’t have much to work with, but he would give it a try nevertheless. Uta liked experimentations of this kind and this boy, well, let’s simply say that he was a beautiful instrument worth playing. 

Long fingers cupped the round, doll-like cheek as the ghoul slipped his other hand under the sheet, blindly ghosting his warm fingertips over the small body. It was better like this – touching without _seeing_ – just smooth exploration of flesh upon flesh, Uta was good with his fingers, loved the richness of textures and subtlety of shapes, it brought a deeper comprehension, even when it came to his creations.  

“No, no, look at me,” he pleaded softly when Juuzou gasped, pale lips parting in utter surprise and beginning to look genuinely frightened now.

The ghoul observed him in awe, fingers pressing, rubbing and squeezing, fascinated by the expressions passing over the boy’s chalk-white face at the sensations which were obviously unfamiliar, enjoyable yet so scary. And when those gorgeous red eyes widened, pupils expanding until Uta could almost see his own reflection in them, he couldn’t resist any longer. He leaned in brusquely and pressed his lips aggressively against the small mouth, pushing his tongue inside.    

Juuzou may have smelled appetizingly, but his taste was _divine_. His innocence was intoxicating.

“I must have you. I-I’m sorry, but-… I will take you now.”

* * *

 

Uta’s face was pressed into the crook of the boy’s small neck, listening to that steady rhythm in the still panting chest. Gaze trained absently onto the discarded sheet and clothing on the floor, he rubbed circles on the agent’s shoulder, thin under his fingers, like bird bones. Juuzou’s body felt deliciously warm under his own now that they lay skin on skin, slender thighs still pressed against the ghoul’s hips.

“Why?! Why must you be human?” the raven-haired artist murmured. “If only you weren’t… if… I wish we could-…”

They could what, exactly? To begin with, the boy’s eyes would not have held that unmistakable hint of aversion and disgust for him, still present despite the confusion of the unexpected and unfamiliar pleasure. And in turn, Uta wouldn’t feel this profane, this _accursed_ hunger which tainted the pure appreciation of the other’s beauty.

Because now, lust spent, he _was_ hungry. No, he was ravenous. And he knew, no matter what, hunger would always win. Hunger would always consume him and take away everything that was important, everything could have been precious and worth keeping in his life… like this exquisitely beautiful boy.

_I can live neither with, nor without you…_

Absently, Uta reached for the scalpel abandoned on the tabletop and gripped it lightly, like he would a pencil or brush. Still, it had no such grace and no finesse in its strokes. It plunged into flesh with a sickening sound and the smell of blood filled the ghoul’s nostrils, bringing about the usual feeling of exhilaration and defeat.

**_End of chapter_ **

Yes, I did this. I did.


	3. Loss

**LOSS**

Hello everyone! First of all, thank you guys so much for the amazing and totally unexpected support this fic has gotten! And yes, it’s incredible but I’ve actually stirred from my absolutely epic lazy-ass-ness to write the final chapter of this fic. I know the ending of the previous chap was kinda sinister and probably made you guys think of the worst outcome… but. BUT. While something bad (or at least seriously gross) definitely happened, it wasn’t quite what you think and I’m back here to finally clarify and bring this fucked-up plot to a conclusion. So enjoy!

 _Warnings_ :  _mentions of substance use, mentions of depression, other angsty crap_

* * *

 

_Loss._

How could one pinpoint and handle this feeling of emptiness, of sheer hollow left behind by the brightest of burning fires? An artist does not _handle_ emotion, they harbor, treasure it, allow themselves to be carried away, infected by it even to a certain extent. For this reason, he’d always treasured experiences over things and, since experiences were fleeting in their very nature, Uta had not felt loss in this way before.

It was... incapacitating to say the least. As such, the ghoul artist could only lie sprawled out onto his shabby living-room couch, eyes glued to the fine cracks of the ceiling, absently watching the clouds of smoke floating upwards, floating and dissipating like the very minutes of one’s life, feeling abandonment in every fibre.

Uncharacteristically – because Uta was meticulous by excellence – now he couldn’t be bothered to even clean up the mess he’d done in the kitchen. No, disposing of... of the object of this completely unreasonable attachment had been the only effort the raven-haired ghoul had been capable of, in the aftermath of his blinding moment of passion.

Having only one good arm at the moment did count too, the other – nearly chewed to the bone – hanging limply over the worn, plushy edge which was now stained with more than cheap beer and soy sauce. It would heal, of course, _he_ would heal too, but some mark would still remain. After all, it was unlikely that the destroyed tattoos could be restored to perfection once the flesh grew back.   

And the worst was... that this was unprecedented. Wrong.

What he’d just done was wrong. So deeply wrong that it could probably even spell his own doom, because his deed would come back to hunt him down. The CCG would come after him.

* * *

 

“So he was found?! What, I mean where-…?!”

Shinohara’s hurried steps fell down heavily on the hospital’s pristine floor and beads of sweat had gathered on his forehead, a deep-seated fear seeping through his every pore. For the past two days he’d been searching, searching, searching, still there was no sign of Juuzou in the aftermath of the confrontation. He’d only found Jason lying under a pile of contorted irons – _the worst of signs_ – but not the body of the infamous quinque’s owner. So where…? Sure, the CCG knew about the missing bodies of agents killed in action, they even had a solid clue as to what was happening, but still, Shinohara refused to think that Juuzou, his precious Juuzou, had ended up on some ghoul’s dinner table.

“I know it’s unbelievable, but he was found lying on a street bench right in front of the CCG headquarters early this morning, still in full gear, but out cold,” Seidou Takizawa explained quickly, his voice slightly choked by the effort to keep up with the taller man’s large strides. “He was probably drunk or something, jeez…”

“Doctor?!” the older investigator inquired panting, as a man in a white robe walked out of the ward he’d been indicated to at the reception. “How-… how is he?!”

The doctor tsked and threw the younger a severe and slightly annoyed glance. “He wasn’t drunk, just heavily drugged. His bloodwork is yet to be completed, so we don’t know yet what it was, but-“

“Great, so now he does _drugs_!” Seidou concluded, rolling his eyes.

Shinohara ignored him. “No, no, but how is he, doctor?! What happened to him?! Is he in one piece or-…?!”

“He’s fine, I told you!” the other investigator stated. “He’s just fine, just a couple of scratches and bruises he must have gotten in battle, but nothing else!”

The doctor shrugged and nodded in turn, placing his binder under his arm. “He’s still asleep, but you can see him if you want.”

Shinohara did not wait to be told twice – before the other could even finish his phrase, his hand had shot forward for the knob and he pushed in without hesitation.

“You need to talk to him about this shit! This is just unacceptable!” Seidou shouted in his wake. ”Damn brat!”

Once inside, the investigator closed the door carefully, obstructing all invasive sounds, and padded quietly to the bed, where he leaned over the sleeping form. Juuzou looked peaceful and untroubled, his small chest rising and falling with steady movements, but Shinohara’s attention was suddenly drawn to the thin wrist resting on top of the covers. It looked freshly bruised all around, as if the boy had been struggling against some restraints. Frowning, he pulled back the covers to check Juuzou’s other arm – the same story there.

His prodding made the other stir, almost imperceptibly at first, then Juuzou suddenly awoke with a violent flinch, instinctively jerking away from the large form  hovering above him.

“Juuzou! Juuzou, it’s alright! It’s me! You’re alright, you’re safe! It’s okay! It’s over now!” Shinohara reassured him, sitting on the edge of the bed while the boy’s eyes quickly scanned the white hospital room with a confused and still sleepy expression. And he made no sound.

“Juuzou, I-… I was so worried! Where were you?” the older investigator asked gently, large hand reaching out to stroke the other’s cheek with awkward gentleness.

Juuzou sighed, relaxing back into the pillows, eyelids falling closed again. “Kitchen… “ he murmured absently. “…was in a kitchen… But I don’t remember his name.”

The brunet flinched, but kept the horror from his voice as he spoke. “It’s alright, it doesn’t matter. But… was it a ghoul?”

“… a ghoul. He ate-…” Suddenly Juuzou sat up, eyes wide again, and wrapped his arms around his supervisor’s neck, pressing close to the other’s strong body, instinctively seeking warmth and protection. “He ate his own arm! Cut a-along the bone and… and ate… and… and then I don’t remember…”

“But he let you go, I think,” Shinohara said, as absurd as it sounded. “He didn’t harm you, Juuzou, that’s what matters. He didn’t… harm you, right?”

The boy didn’t answer right away, but the older investigator felt the tiny fingertips digging into his shoulders. “I don’t understand _why_ , but…” He pulled away, large ruby eyes glancing into the other’s, innocently questioning.

“…but I liked it.”

****

**_End_ **


End file.
